2017年4月25日火曜日

Beer
and grilled banana, 15 yen per stick. As I was enjoying a mysterious lunch,
water came flowing in around my feet. I guess the river I see over there is
overflowing. The radio is saying the bank is about to give in.

The
old lady cooking the bananas pointed to her bare feet and smiled, showing her
gold teeth. Is she saying she will be okay because she is barefoot? Naked
children came out of their houses screaming and dove into the mud water. The
parents looked like they were saying, ah, what a nice playground.

Wait,
wait. That’s not right. We have to get out of here. This is the big flood in
Bangkok that’s going to be on the news in Japan later. A university in Thailand
asked me to give a lecture and the locals said it would be okay so I came to
Bangkok, but it is not okay. I asked around and found out all Japanese companies
evacuated. Oh, so I guess I’m alone.

But
something about this feels nostalgic. It is similar to the scenery I saw as a
child.

I
lived in Shizuoka back in the days. Nearby was Abe River and on the riverbed
there were barracks with rocks on the roofs. I always played with kids from
there. When typhoons came, we were taken into the house and we even nailed the
window blinds in. Then the next day, I went to the river and found the barracks
flattened.

They
would soon be homeless, but they didn’t seem to care. They screamed and played
in the water. I joined them and chased after pigs and watermelons that got out
after the storm. The water level had increased and it was dangerous, but there
was no tension. It was really fun. We were all poor. It’s actually quite nice
when everyone is poor.

Then,
my family business did not work out and we ran from home. My family got to
Kyoto. Running away from home is a form of running away. You cannot let others
know. You might know this if you have experience, but it means losing all your
friends at once. That really upset me.

Your
living standards dropping or leaving behind belongings is one thing, but
abandoning friends I used to play with at the riverbed and being isolated from
the community and communication is much worse.

But
somehow, my mother told my teacher about it. After a while, as I was going to
school in Kyoto with my head down, I got a package. Everyone in my class,
including friends I played with at the riverbed, wrote me a letter.

Letters
written by children are not that sophisticated. But each one of them thought
about me and wrote it. I did not lose the community or communication. I was
grateful. I still remember feeling, I am not alone.